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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26634814">Five years</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tissaias_piglet/pseuds/tissaias_piglet'>tissaias_piglet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Gen, Lodge of Sorceresses, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Violence, Spoilers, mentions of injury, post-Thanedd, tissaias_piglet tries to fix things</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:06:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26634814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tissaias_piglet/pseuds/tissaias_piglet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Philippa Eilhart had never seen a ghost. She had, of course, seen wraiths and banshees, and countless other foul things besides, but never the ghost of someone she knew to be dead.</p><p>...</p><p>Contains SPOILERS for Time of Contempt (or Thanedd, for those who've not read the books but know what happens there), as well as mentions of violence, injury, and small references to suicide/suicidal thoughts. Full description in the notes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Philipa Eilhart/Triss Merigold (mentioned), Tissaia de Vries &amp; Philippa Eilhart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Five years</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is not a happy story! It includes detail about what happened at Thanedd and afterwards (we all know what I mean by that), so there will be mentions of injury, violence, small references to suicide/suicidal thoughts, and a lot of angst.</p><p>There are obviously massive spoilers here for Time of Contempt, and a lot of specific details about the Thanedd coup so it may help if you've read the book. But this does also diverge from the canon storyline in a pretty major way, as you'll see. Just be warned, there are definitely spoilers! I've twisted timelines and some events to suit my storyline, especially since I don't know if/when the events of the games fall in the accepted canon.</p><p>Anyway, I don't usually write angst so I hope you enjoy it :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Philippa Eilhart had never seen a ghost. She had, of course, seen wraiths and banshees, and countless other foul things besides, but never the ghost of someone she knew to be dead. It was a doppler, someone playing a cruel trick, taking revenge for something she’d done, and although no recent misdeeds came to mind, there was no shortage of them in her history.</p><p>“If you’re trying to trick me, you should perhaps have thought to use someone who has not been dead for five years,” Philippa began, her voice giving an impression of much more confidence than she actually felt. She couldn’t take her eyes off the woman in front of her, no matter how much staring into that achingly familiar face was making her insides twist.</p><p>The woman smiled, but it was a frigid, lifeless thing. There was no warmth towards Philippa in it. “I can assure you, Philippa Eilhart, I am as real and alive as you are,” Tissaia de Vries said, meeting Philippa’s gaze with a cool, intense stare.</p><p>That voice. Oh, how painfully and intimately she remembered it. She had once told Triss Merigold that, unlike the weaker sorceress, she’d never suffered frights or night terrors after the coup on Thanedd. It had been a lie, partially because she could not allow anyone to see the leader of the Lodge as being fragile or susceptible to the influence of fear, but mostly because she could hardly bear to think – let alone explain – the form those nightmares took. It was not the blood and death and flames and screams of dying mages which haunted her, but Tissaia’s words to her inside Garstang.</p><p>The memory of that moment rose up in her mind again, as it had done countless times over the years. Tissaia, hair dishevelled, face covered in dust, her anger and sheer presence filling the room, making her seem as tall as the sky despite her short stature. It was the only time she – or anyone else, by all accounts – had seen Tissaia with so much as a single hair out of place. And although those words raked through her like sharp talons, no less painful for being mentally repeated for perhaps the two-thousandth time, the memory brought her a strange clarity.</p><p>Calmness settled over Philippa like a fine mist. It was a fakery, she could see through it clearly now, and she was no longer unsettled. “No,” she responded, her new-found reassurance steadying her voice yet more, “it’s not true. The real Tissaia de Vries would never allow herself to be seen looking like this.”</p><p>For it was impossible to deny that Tissaia seemed more than a little worse for wear. Besides looking as tired as if she’d been travelling for a month without resting, her face was streaked with dirt, her cheeks hollow, her hair loose and slightly matted, tumbling down her back, and her dress filthy and torn.</p><p>She laughed, humourless and bitter. “Oh, you’d be surprised at the things I would do, Philippa Eilhart. Five years is a long time.” A few moments passed, neither woman daring to yield even an inch. Tissaia glanced around somewhat nervously, as though fearing pursuers. “Ask me something only I would know, then,” she said, with the irritation and impatience Philippa recognised of old.</p><p>Again the memory flared like a flame given kindling. “What was the last thing you said to me?” Philippa asked, dreading the response. For as inconceivable as it seemed, there appeared to be no way to escape the fact that Tissaia de Vries – the true Tissaia de Vries, beloved rectoress of Aretuza, confirmed dead by her own hand five years ago – was stood in front of her now. No doppler or faker could inspire the feelings and memories inside her which Tissaia could; that kind of emotion could not be pretended.</p><p>Tissaia answered without hesitation, as though the events in Garstang were burned into her memory just as they were into Philippa’s. Perhaps they were. “You asked Yennefer who she worked for. You called Cirilla – for you did not know at the time who she was – a monster, and asked who demanded she be brought there to prophesy. I answered ‘I did’.”</p><p>“Oh, by all the fucking gods,” Philippa whispered shakily, reaching out to steady herself on the door. “Oh. Tissaia.” She felt weightless with grief and confusion, as though her anchor, which had found purchase on the seabed five years ago, had come loose and left her drifting with no sense of stability. “Who knew?” she whispered hoarsely, “who knew about this fucking <em>con</em>?” As always, anger surged to the fore, burning off any other emotions before she could feel them too deeply.</p><p>She would not – could not – admit now to the tears she’d shed over Tissaia. Perhaps, had she not felt so betrayed, she might have done, for Tissaia was the only person she’d ever known who was as obsessed as she was about maintaining the illusion (if not the fact) of power and strength and absolute control, and she might have understood how hard it was for Philippa to admit to any emotion other than hatred or anger.</p><p>“Not here,” Tissaia said, her voice steely, but there was a pleading note in it, “it’s safer to talk inside.” She glanced around again, and Philippa realised for the first time that Tissaia might have come to her because she was in trouble. Wordlessly, she stepped back, letting Tissaia into her home, before closing the door securely and assisting the locks with a little magic.</p><p>Looking around, Tissaia suddenly seemed to become aware of how filthy she was in comparison to Philippa’s clean, tidy home. Her cheeks flamed. “Would you mind if I…?” she began, gesturing vaguely down at her ragged, stained dress, and Philippa noticed for the first time that there was a large tear at the waist, a sliver of milk-white skin visible beneath. She wondered what had happened.</p><p>Her anger had dissipated a little, which was a blessed relief as it had vastly reduced her desire to break something, but now she was once again left feeling empty and strange. To distract herself, she guided Tissaia into her bedroom with a firm hand on the small of her back, grounding herself in the touch, a reminder that she needed to focus on untying the knot of mystery surrounding Tissaia’s alleged death, and not her own emotions.</p><p>She gestured to a filigree screen in the corner. “You can undress behind there while I fill the tub. I’d prefer not to use magic if it’s all the same to you, so it may take a little longer. I promise I’m not going to look,” she added as an afterthought, for although Tissaia’s elixirs and remedies had kept her looking beautiful and prevented her true age from showing, Philippa had never been attracted to her.</p><p>Tissaia said nothing; perhaps she was remembering Philippa’s days at Aretuza, and how little a promise from her really meant, especially when it involved impropriety and/or naked women. Philippa could hardly blame her for being cautiously mistrustful.</p><p>Once the tub was full, Philippa turned away, beginning to sort through the dresses in her expansive wardrobe, allowing Tissaia time to climb into the tub and settle under the water. She heard a soft sigh, Tissaia clearly appreciating both the warm water and the feeling of getting clean after so long. Perhaps also the scented oils Philippa had tipped in with the water – Triss’ own recipe of course. The thought of Triss prodded at the smouldering remains of her earlier anger, and she took several deep breaths to bring herself under control again. There would be a time for answers to be given, but she wouldn’t be able to seek them if all she could think of was Triss’ distraught, tear-streaked face.</p><p>Her questing fingers settled on a grey dress, expensive and – by her tastes – relatively modest and demure. She took it out of the wardrobe carefully and laid it on her bed, adding a pair of boots after some consideration. Tissaia would have to deal with getting her unmentionables clean; Philippa’s generosity did not quite extend to giving her old mentor her underclothes.</p><p>“I am quite surprised you haven’t tried to get the truth out of me while I’m vulnerable and naked,” Tissaia remarked with a dry laugh, tipping a jug of water over her hair. Philippa glanced over, trying to read Tissaia’s expression, but she was sat in the tub with her back to Philippa, showing only sleek, dark hair cascading wetly, and the pale, glistening skin of her shoulders and upper back.</p><p>Philippa moved closer, covering her eyes once she was sure she could do so without tripping and falling head first into the water, and held out a hairbrush for Tissaia. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me,” she said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “But that’s actually a good idea. Should I start with why you’re here, or how you managed to convince everyone for <em>five fucking years</em> that you were dead?”</p><p>She moved away slowly, one arm out in front of her to break a fall, removing her hand from in front of her eyes once she deemed she was far enough away. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she waited for a response, eyes fixed on Tissaia brushing her hair, without really seeing anything.</p><p>“The latter, if you please,” Tissaia said. “You may have guessed that the reason I’m here involves asking for help, and I’d rather do that while fully clothed and feeling somewhat protected.” Philippa did not answer, being focussed once again on reeling in her anger, tempted to tell Tissaia that she had a greater need to be protected while discussing this topic than when asking for help. “I see,” Tissaia said quietly, and Philippa realised with a sick feeling that she’d forgotten to guard her thoughts.</p><p>
  <em>I didn’t mean…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It doesn’t matter. I would probably deserve it.</em>
</p><p>“No matter,” Tissaia continued aloud, waving her hand as if to signify that that part of the conversation was over. “You wanted to know how I did it. With Margarita’s help. And a very strong illusion.”</p><p>It was the blow Philippa had sensed was coming from the start, but she still felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. “Rita knew? Rita knew all this time and she never said a word?” Her voice had risen steadily as she spoke until she was almost shouting, and she clenched her fists tightly, digging her nails into her palms in a furious attempt to try and expend some of the chaotic energy which was building up inside her, pushing her to lash out and destroy something.</p><p>“Rita sat in our meetings, month after month, looked into my eyes, and said nothing? She comforted Triss when she wept over you, Tissaia, and breathed not a word?” A noise of fury tore from Philippa’s throat, and she threw her hand out, purple electricity crackling from her fingertips and shattering the mirror on her dressing table.</p><p>“She kept you a secret from the people who needed your guidance, who valued your help, who missed you!” Philippa wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the Lodge in general, or to herself, but she certainly had no intention of letting Tissaia know that. She lashed out again, this time shattering a vase of flowers, water slopping over her chest of drawers.</p><p>“Philippa, stop it!” Tissaia commanded, surprisingly regal and in control for someone sat naked in a tub as random objects exploded around her. “And for the love of the gods, will you please get me a towel?”</p><p>The simple request pierced Philippa’s anger, and she felt herself deflate a little. Wordlessly, she handed Tissaia a towel and a robe, and turned away to offer her some privacy. A few minutes passed in silence, except for the gentle splashing sound as Tissaia stepped out of the tub, and the repetitive sound of the towel scratching lightly against her skin as she dried herself. When Philippa decided enough time had passed that it was acceptable to look again, Tissaia was using her damp towel to mop up the water which had spilled from the broken vase.</p><p>“If you’ve been in contact with Rita all of this time, why are you coming to me for help?” Philippa asked, coming to Tissaia’s side and beginning to pick up the larger pieces of the vase. “What can I provide that she can’t?”</p><p>Tissaia did not appear to be in a forthcoming mood. She folded her towel neatly and placed it down, before dipping back behind the screen, picking up something Philippa didn’t quite see, and kneeling down in front of the tub. The oddly soothing sound of sloshing water distracted Philippa for a minute, tugging at a memory she couldn’t quite grasp, before she caught herself and began to pick up the broken pieces of her mirror. She didn’t think Tissaia would welcome an audience as she washed her underclothes.</p><p>“Margarita was taken,” Tissaia said quietly, after a few minutes. There was a noise which could have been a sob, or maybe just the water splashing again. Philippa’s heart seemed to stop, then begin to pound harder than she’d ever felt before. It was not uncommon for any of the Lodge members to be out of contact for days, sometimes weeks, so she hadn’t thought anything of Rita’s silence. But now, knowing that precious days had been wasted when she could have been helping her... She felt dizzy, nausea rising.</p><p>“I lost contact with her, and when I went to find her, someone said she had been taken. Sheala too.” Tissaia rested the damp scraps of fabric on the edge of the tub, and after a moment, Philippa picked them up, taking them to dry in front of the fire. She needed something to occupy her mind, even briefly, to force away the thoughts of the pain Rita and Sheala could be in at that very moment. Tissaia offered not a word of protest.</p><p>“I thought you would know, that you would already be forming a plan to rescue them. I went to Montecalvo, but of course you were not there.” She turned around, and sat down hard on the floor, her back against the tub. The tear tracks on her face were difficult, but not impossible, to see. “I found the code you left. Very clever. None but a moment of the Lodge would understand it. And, it seems, myself.”</p><p>Philippa could scarcely remember leaving such a code. Her moonlit flight from Montecalvo seemed so long ago now. She sat down on her dressing table chair, her legs weak. Rita, Sheala, gods only knew who else, all taken? It could not be. Surely to the Power, it had not all fallen to shit so quickly?</p><p>“Have you heard from Triss?” Tissaia asked, no longer trying, or perhaps no longer able, to keep the tremor from her voice. It drew a wry smile from Philippa, for although she had been Tissaia’s most talented pupil, there was no doubt as to who Tissaia’s <em>favourite</em> pupil was. Tissaia’s hands were trembling. She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and clasping her hands. Although she had never been blessed with the kind of curves Rita possessed – seeming as they did to have been sculpted by the gods themselves – Tissaia seemed even smaller than Philippa remembered her.</p><p>Philippa shook her head. “No, I haven’t,” she said quietly, and there was a genuine note of worry in her voice. She liked the chestnut-haired sorceress a lot, in no small part because she made a delightful bedfellow, but also because she was an exceptionally talented potion maker and a valuable ally and member of the Lodge. Before today, there had been nothing to suggest that Triss’ silence was a sign that they should fear for her wellbeing, but now Philippa was worried. Could they have found something at Rita’s home which spelled out where all of the other Lodge members could be found? The thought was too much to bear, and she tried to force it away and concentrate on something else.</p><p>Assuming Triss was safe, not in danger, and Philippa actually knew where she was, would she tell Tissaia? The question needled at her. The ‘loss’ of Tissaia had hit Triss hard, but would she be able to cope with finding out they’d been lied to for five years? Even Philippa was finding it difficult to swallow that particular piece of information. Still, she was neither Triss’ warder nor her mother (fortunately), and she could not stop her from finding out the truth if Tissaia wanted to offer it.</p><p>“<em>Philippa</em>!” Tissaia said sharply, and Philippa blinked dazedly, realising she’d become so lost in her own thoughts that she’d missed whatever Tissaia had said. Before she could respond, Tissaia started speaking again. “You want answers, and it is only fair, I know. Forgive me, I am selfishly avoiding the topic, because it shames me. But anything you want to know, you may ask, and I will answer truthfully.”</p><p>It had been – how long? An hour, perhaps two, but no more. It wasn’t long enough to formulate all the questions she had. “Wait,” she said after a moment, and went to retrieve Tissaia’s underclothes from where they were drying. Tissaia looked askance at her, eyebrows slightly raised. “It’s not exactly a virgin fire,” Philippa explained with a slight smirk, “I gave it some assistance to allow things to dry more quickly.” She handed them to Tissaia. “There’s a dress and shoes on the bed. You deserve to have some dignity while we discuss this.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Tissaia said quietly. She was already unfastening her robe before Philippa had even turned away, and she gave the distinct impression that she would have continued regardless of whether Philippa was there or not. Seeing Tissaia that way, a shadow of her former self, as though she had no pride or shame left, struck at emotions Philippa didn’t know she still possessed. She was halfway out of the door when Tissaia’s voice, catching a little, drew her back. “Philippa?”</p><p>“Yes?” she asked, not turning around for fear of seeing something Tissaia didn’t want her to see. No response came, but she stayed where she was anyway. It crossed her mind that Tissaia hadn’t wanted to be alone, and emotion hit her like a physical blow. Her knees threatened to give way, like a flower scythed at the stem without warning. Once again she had to cling to the door to steady herself, and she hoped Tissaia was still facing away from her and hadn’t noticed.</p><p>Long minutes passed, filled only with the soft sound of clothes rustling as Tissaia dressed. Philippa tried to steady her breathing and push away the emotion still surging uncomfortably through her. After what seemed like an eternity, Tissaia spoke quietly. “You may turn back now.” The grey dress fitted – and suited – her surprisingly well, considering she was both smaller and shorter than Philippa. Her hair, though still wet, was combed smooth and tied in the kind of severe style Philippa remembered from her days at Aretuza. Its familiarity made her feel a little less wrong-footed.</p><p>“Come and sit down so we can talk properly,” she suggested, leading Tissaia out of the bedroom. They sat facing each other in relatively comfortable chairs, Philippa choosing the one she and Triss had debauched on the sorceress’ most recent visit, since it didn’t feel right allowing Tissaia to sit there. The memory gave her the tiniest smile; it flickered with the strength of a weak flame. Tissaia gestured that Philippa should speak.</p><p>Still the questions did not come easily. She wanted everything and yet nothing; she wanted the full story and yet she wanted to cover her ears and hear nothing of it. “Why did you do it?” she asked, and then, as though the dam had burst, the words kept coming, “why did you not just go away for a while, leave instructions with Rita that you would come back when you were ready? Why did you have to let us all think you were dead? Why did you have to... hurt us?” Her voice cracked on the last words, but it was too late to hide it.</p><p>Tissaia looked as though she would rather be any other place on the Continent than with Philippa, answering those questions, but she began to speak anyway. “I did it because I failed. In one day I lost control of everything I’d worked for centuries to build and protect. You, Sabrina, Vilgefortz, Enid, you’d all chosen your paths, rightly or wrongly. You went into that fight knowing what the possible outcome would be. But not everyone who died had chosen a side, or even knew the battle was coming. The guilt…”</p><p>Philippa knew what Tissaia was picturing. She pictured it too, more often than she would ever willingly admit to anyone. But something was missing, some part of the narrative, or some feeling or explanation. Some tiny key which, when slipped into place, would unlock the meaning of Tissaia’s story. Philippa longed to interrupt, but she didn’t dare.</p><p>“I wanted the world to believe I was dead. For a while I wanted to <em>be</em> dead. I had nothing left to offer.” Her voice shook, and a tear streaked down her cheek. “But when it came to doing it, I just couldn’t leave all of you. I couldn’t risk there being a time when you might need my assistance and not be able to get it. I asked Margarita to help me. I needed her to be the secret-keeper, to know that if ever there was a time when the need for help was too great, she could call on me.” Tissaia looked up at her, and Philippa swore she saw the other woman’s lower lip tremble minutely. “You see, Philippa, I just couldn’t stop being rectoress.” She took a shuddering breath in, closing her eyes and seeming to feel it through every inch of her body, as though it was the only thing separating her from breaking down completely.</p><p>Philippa, too, felt close to tears. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d cried, although there was no doubt what, or rather who, it had been over. Collecting herself as best she could, she prompted, “so you’re here to ask whether I have a plan to help Rita and Sheala?” Tissaia’s cheeks reddened immediately, and once again Philippa felt like she’d missed part of the conversation, as though Tissaia was elaborating in her mind, but not explaining her thoughts and feelings out loud. What did she have to be embarrassed about?</p><p>“I wish that was the case,” Tissaia said quietly. “No, the pitiful, lamentable truth is that I came here to ask you to help me escape.” She looked as though every word was an effort to force out, and perhaps it was. Perhaps it was difficult for someone so proud and strong to admit they were afraid. “When I returned from looking for Margarita and Sheala, the witch hunters had already sacked my home. It was sheer, dumb luck that I was not inside when they came. I dared not use a portal to get away; I had no idea how they had found me, whether they had tracked my magic somehow. So I walked. I walked and I did not stop, until eventually I arrived here.” Tissaia stopped, and a strange expression – which if Philippa didn’t know better, she’d have called sheepishness – passed over her face.</p><p>After a minute, she made a visible effort to carry on. “I knew from Margarita that Triss was planning to try and travel to Kovir, and I hoped you would be able to put me in contact with Triss so I could leave with her.” The reason for her sheepish expression quickly revealed itself. “Margarita had never let me know where Triss was, because she always believed – and as it happened, I agreed – that if I knew where Triss was, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself going to see her.”</p><p>Philippa smiled wryly. “The truth comes out!” But she wasn’t disappointed or unhappy, in fact she had the strangest impulse to embrace Tissaia. It was indescribably reassuring that after so many years, she was just the same. Predictability and constancy weren’t things Philippa had known she craved, but from Tissaia, they gave her strength. “And yet all these years, you knew you could find me at Montecalvo and you never did,” she said, and to her surprise, she found that she was laughing. It felt like the first sip of water into a parched mouth, a blessed relief, and even though it only lasted for a moment, Philippa found that she felt a little lighter. Even Tissaia managed a smile and a tiny laugh.</p><p>“At some point on my journey, I realised I couldn’t in good faith try to escape when Margarita and Sheala were in danger. I had to – have to – offer my help.” Tissaia broke off as Philippa stood up, but she gestured for her to carry on. It had occurred to her that firstly, she hadn’t even offered Tissaia a drink, and secondly, that some alcohol to numb the pain a little would be nice. “I didn’t even know whether I’d be able to find you, whether they’d taken the entire Lodge, but I knew I had to try,” Tissaia said quietly. Her hair was drying slowly, and fine, wispy strands were beginning to fall about her face. She dashed them away, frustrated, and wondered for a second whether any of her students had ever realised she kept her hair slicked down using magic. The thought of Aretuza was too painful, and she pushed it away almost violently, replacing it with a question which was no less painful, but she needed to know. “Have you heard from anyone else?”</p><p>Philippa didn’t respond immediately. She was putting cold meat, cheese, and bread together on a plate, thinking morosely about the caviar they used to eat at banquets. She dug her long nails into her palm to distract herself from those particular thoughts. Surprising both of them, when she returned with the wine and food, she pulled her chair closer to Tissaia’s and rested her hand on the arm of the chair, close enough that should Tissaia choose to, she could reach out and take Philippa’s hand for comfort.</p><p>“Not in...” Philippa faltered, unsure of how many days had actually passed. “Perhaps a week, perhaps two?” When she poured the wine, her hand trembled. Tissaia took her glass and drank gratefully, and Philippa grabbed a slice of bread, nibbling at the corners, so Tissaia didn’t feel awkward about eating alone. It seemed strange to be talking and sharing a meal when everything seemed to be screaming at them to get out there and save their friends. But Tissaia was weak and looked as though she hadn’t eaten a good meal – or any meal – in days, and even if she had, nothing could be achieved without a plan.</p><p>Tissaia wiped the corner of her mouth delicately with her thumb. “It must be more than a week, because it’s been 10 days since I found out Margarita and Sheala were gone,” she said, her voice finally dropping from emotional to exhausted. She picked up a slice of cheese, broke it in half, and placed a slice of meat between the two halves like a sandwich. Philippa had to smother a smile at the sight of Tissaia de Vries playing with her food in such a way, and allowed her a few minutes of silence to eat.</p><p>Eventually she had to voice the question which was on her mind. “When you first arrived, you said I’d be surprised at the things you’d do. What did you mean by that?” she asked. Tissaia seemed to devote an exceptional amount of attention to a slice of bread, before finally looking up. “Triss told me – us – about what you did to the Redanian soldiers when they tried to attack Garstang. Were you referring to that?”</p><p>Tissaia shook her head. More impossibly fine strands of hair fluttered down around her face, giving her a soft, almost girlish appearance. “I had forgotten about that,” she said with a faint smile, “in comparison to the other things which happened that day, killing those soldiers seems… inconsequential.” She took a few sips of wine, wishing the alcohol was stronger. She wanted to forget. “I was travelling for many days, as I told you. There are few people willing to help a woman travelling alone, and even fewer willing to do it without something in return. I had to look after myself.”</p><p>At Philippa’s horrified expression, she tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it fell flat. “Don’t worry yourself, no one got close enough to put their hands on me. The first night, I came across a bandit camp. I managed to lure some manner of flying creature – a wyvern perhaps, or a forktail, I am not a witcher – to their camp, and once it savaged them, I took their weapons and food, and slept the night in one of their tents.” Again a faint smile flickered across her face. “You’re picturing me wielding a sword?”</p><p>Philippa had to admit, it was a uniquely amusing image, not least because of Tissaia’s short stature. She imagined that a sword would be almost the same size as Tissaia standing at full height. “I’ll admit it’s a nice piece of light relief,” she smiled back. Now they’d both stopped eating, Tissaia was resting her hand on the arm of her chair, and Philippa did the same, the side of her little finger just brushing against Tissaia’s. The simple contact was surprisingly pleasant.</p><p>“I took a dagger and a blackjack,” Tissaia continued, and Philippa could have sworn that she moved her hand a little closer. “The dagger was only in case someone got too close to me, but the blackjack was a pretty good deterrent to that. Yes, I did hit several people with it,” she said, seeing Philippa’s questioning look. “It’s... surprisingly cathartic. Don’t look at me like that, I only attacked people who deserved it.”</p><p>Philippa held up her hands in a show of innocence. “I’m not looking at you like anything, except maybe with admiration. We could use those kinds of skills if we go after whoever took Rita and Sheala.”</p><p>“When,” Tissaia said, her face set.</p><p>“Sorry?” Philippa asked, wondering if she’d heard wrong.</p><p>Tissaia poured them both more wine. “I said <em>when</em> we go after the people who took Margarita and Sheala. I’ll do it alone if I have to, but I am doing it.” She looked at Philippa, her gaze hard as steel, but she betrayed her confident attitude by slipping her fingers beneath Philippa’s until they were all but holding hands. She was trembling slightly.</p><p>A strange and intense affection welled up inside Philippa, and she pressed her lips together, suddenly fearing that she might begin to cry without warning. Seeing Tissaia like this, raw and human and no longer hiding her emotions, made her more real, more sympathetic. And yet she was still as mysterious and complex as ever. Once again, Philippa thought of how grateful she was for Tissaia’s predictability and consistency, and with a jolt, she realised just how much she’d missed the other woman. Throwing caution to the wind, Philippa took Tissaia’s hand and clasped it hard, and Tissaia squeezed back, her eyes misty with tears.</p><p>“We’ll get them back,” Philippa said firmly, “we will, I promise. Tomorrow we’ll contact everyone we can, and start making a plan. You know that when I set my mind to something, I don’t stop until it’s done, Tissaia,” she added, when Tissaia made a small sound which could have been an intake of breath, or a sob.</p><p>“I know,” Tissaia said on a choked breath. “I trust you. You know, Rita would always give me a debrief of every Lodge meeting. I knew almost as much as the people who were there.” She couldn’t help but laugh a little at Philippa’s mutinous frown, and it gave her a brief respite from the sobs which were building up inside her, ready to tumble out at the first sign of her concentration lapsing. “Don’t frown at me, Philippa. I was about to pay you a compliment.”</p><p>Philippa bit the inside of her lip to prevent herself responding too quickly. She was known for not accepting compliments well – except where they related to her considerable skill in bed or wherever she chose to have sex – but it wasn’t because she didn’t like to be complimented. It was simply that she never felt worthy of it. Of course it took more than a small amount of self-belief to command an organisation like the Lodge, and Philippa had confidence enough in her ability to plan, and to cooperate with (or coerce and manipulate) people. But something was always missing, something she barely even admitted to herself.</p><p>
  <em>Did you mean for me to hear this?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hear what?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That ever since I told you that you’d disappointed me, you’ve been unable to </em>
  <em>feel like you deserve </em>
  <em>compliments, because </em>
  <em>what you really need is my approval, and you thought you’d never be able to get it.</em>
</p><p>Tissaia was, as she always had been, almost infuriatingly perceptive. True, she’d had the benefit of being able to hear some of Philippa’s thoughts, but certainly not everything. It had still taken some intuition to come to that conclusion. As they so often did, Tissaia’s cold, blunt words echoed in Philippa’s mind. ‘You were my best pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you. But now I have nothing but contempt for you.’ And as always, they were accompanied by a feeling of cold dread, like icy water trickling down her back.</p><p>“No, you weren’t meant to hear it, and you certainly were not supposed to use your extraordinary brainpower to come to a conclusion which wouldn’t have been obvious to most other people,” she answered with a little irritation. She considered letting go of Tissaia’s hand, but that seemed childish in the extreme. “What were you planning to compliment me on?”</p><p>Tissaia arched an eyebrow. “You’ll appreciate the irony of this, I’m sure. I was intending to say that you make an exceptional leader for the Lodge, and that I’m proud of what you have achieved.” A small smile played across her lips. “You’re so predictable, Philippa, always jumping straight in with anger. I wasn’t wrong to say what I did at the time, I stand by it. But things have changed, <em>you</em> have changed. I’m grateful for who you’ve become.”</p><p>“Is this about to become your ‘we need to work together for the sake of the Lodge’-speech?” Philippa asked, working hard not to sound accusatory.</p><p>“Do you need it to be?” Tissaia responded immediately.</p><p>Philippa thought for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to try and push her rather less helpful emotions aside. She stroked the back of Tissaia’s hand lightly with her thumb. “No. We want the same thing, that’s all that matters. And if, along the way, we come to understand each other better, that can only help us.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Listen, I started crying when Tissaia said that 'You were my best pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you.' line in the book, okay? I needed some closure. I just love Philippa so much, even though I probably (definitely) shouldn't. My beautiful murder-lady owl-baby...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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